Monday, June 21, 2010

Becoming a nun

On cold days
its easy to be reasonable,
to button the mouth against kisses,
dust the breast
with talcum powder
and forget
the red pulp meat
of the heart

On those days
it beats like a digital clock-
not a beat at all
but a steady whirring
chilly as green neon
luminous as numerals in the dark,
cool as electricity

and I think:
I can live without it all -
love with its blood pump,
sex with its messy hungers,
men with their peacock strutting,
their silly sexual baggage,
their wet tounges in my ear
and their words like little sugar suckers
with sour centers,

On such days
I am zipped in my body suit,
I am wearing seven league red suede boots,
I am marching over cobblestones
as if they were the heads of men,

and I am happy
as a seven-year-old virgin
holding Daddy's hand

Dont touch
Dont try to tempt me with your ripe persimmons.
Dont threaten me with your volcano.
The sky is clearer when Im not in heat,
and the poems
are colder.

~ Erica Jong

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